Cost vs. Bare Necessity of a Close Shave

If you're a woman who shaves 'down there' (and I don't mean Australia), I can't imagine you'd use a 25-cent disposable razor around the world's most sought-after au naturel resource any more than I'd use a quarter-disposable on my less-than-nondescript 'mug' and scalp, leaving both looking like razor-burnt wastelands dotted with scabbed nicks.

When the first 100-degree day hits, the hair comes off and my penchant for a smoothed dome has grown so strong that I'll sometimes shave it twice a day, then use hair spray to add blinding luster, a secret told to me by one glum soul whose whole life changed after his hair clumped onto his pillow night-after-night, ne'er to return.

The annual tradition began in ‘00 at Puerto Vallarta, when the summer’s humidity found me marching into a barber shop to surrender my God-given rug to a Mexican’s steady-handed straight-razor.


Wake up, Gillette and Schick, because changing your technology to yet another new "system" once-a-year or more, with greed-driven pomposity to make my blades and their proprietary handles obsolete without even the option to price-fix myself receiving your best by a mail subscription, will force my razor-wielding hand to seek a 3rd-world country's blades for imminent, internet purchase.

You've violated my trust and have no credibility, Schicksters and Gilletteers, upping and upping your prices to eliminate nubbies from my face and scalp.

Don't even go off-point from my charge of greed by reminding me it has always taken six clock revolutions to bring my chin's resemblance to anything remotely posing as 5 o'clock shadow because it's moot, the result of my years in daily meditation to redirect my testosterone to a better end.